thinking theology

Archive for May, 2014

Memory

Memory

Walk around the corner; what do you see?
you expect everything will look
as it has ~ or worse ~ or better yet
But you are wrong.

Once you go around, nothing
will be the same.
The memories in the carryon,
all subtly altered, but
you won’t know that,
you won’t see how you
have changed.

But if you could…and you can’t… it’s only whimsy…
return to the seconds
before you left,
they would exclaim
and maybe not even recognize
you,
although
you
have come back
from the dead to tell them
something
but you can’t
remember
what it is

The hints we have
of what is
waiting for us,
faint wrinkles, warnings,
If we live, we will look like this.

We see in a mirror
darkly, but when we see
face to face,
everything we have known
will be erased by
blinding light, scorching out
our brains.

That is why some can’t move on.
they’ve guessed
what will be lost,
preferring grey mists
of neither nor,
and in between,
to the purging fire,
present time,
another century, another millennium.
But then,
who will carry memory, tell the tales?

Only whales and trees can be trusted with history.
when we have killed them all,
so our grasp of the distant past,
the blaze of stars, the surge of natal sea.
but maybe, finally,
we will be born in sunlight,
Or into the caress of night,
instead of this dim twilight
where we hover, willing to be
neither form nor apparition.

Maybe finally,
the long deep breath,
plunging down
the slide into
life.

edited 2014

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Spring 1997

Spring 1997

the daffodils are having a hard time of it
this easter;
it’s here too soon
for one thing.
like st. paul, untimely born.
my mother’s irises
have been pushing
tentatively
through the still hard soil.

I say; go back down
inanna can’t come out this month,
not yet and who knows when…..

earthquakes, volcanoes, blood in
Africa, and on every urban street
in north america;
hunger everywhere,
snow in summer,
cyberspace on the outside,
shifting images in nano life.

Too soon.
we’re not ready yet for this

rapture.

elderly gardeners erred
with the loving thoughtfulness
of another time,
cleaning up their gardens,
setting their beds in order,
uncovering the shoots….
exposing them to ice and frost….
It’s just too soon.

who knows more
than the leaves,
not us and maybe no one
anymore.
do we know how the seasons form,
can we stop the snows,
or clear the skies,
or make the sap run true?
are our muscles sinewy enough to race the clouds?

what resurrection is coming from the skies
After
the time of death and blessings.

edited 2014

The Heart Ascending

As we move into Ascensiontide, I am thinking about Buckminster Fuller’s comment that in a round world, there is no up or down.

In an interview with Damien Simpson in 1979, he stated that “man must learn to think for himself, rather than follow blindly what he has been taught. As the astronauts stated, the words ‘up’ and ‘down’ have no meaning. The correct words are ‘out’ and ‘in’. This was confirmed when mankind learned the Earth was round, not flat.”

Nonetheless when I hear a choir singing “The Lark Ascending,” or read George Meredith’s poem, I do feel my heart lift and tears threaten to rise in my eyes. For some time, we have been too literal, too earnest. Christians, after all, are people of the parable, children of the narrative, inheritors of the songs of praise and lament. Perhaps, it’s time to release our spirits to soar with bird song, to fill our minds with less thinking and more openness to wind and wave, ebb and flow, to trust our senses as much as we trust our intellects.

I would like to reclaim Ascension Day, not as event but as discovery. The disciples experienced a discontinuity between Jesus’ life and his death. Even their post-resurrection experiences must have been as confusing as they were comforting. Ascension Day marks the shift from perplexity about the role of a dead/not dead leader, to awareness of an intimate presence. In terms of constructed reality, the shift of consciousness moves to the possibility that life is not at all predictable or fixed.

The disciples discovered that the impossible is a problem of perspective rather than data. To manage their grief and loss, they focused on fear, the mind killer, and flight, the blurring of the moment. Until they could be still and contemplate the mystery of relationship, love stronger than the grave, their hearts could not find consolation or courage.

I love to visit the church garden where we placed my parents’ ashes. I feel their presence and I am comforted in my heart, although my mind knows that the ashes have long since disappeared into the earth and they are not there in any obviously discernible way. And yet my heart…

As a priest, I have experienced a sense of my hands within those of Jesus whenever I celebrate. The power of the experience is always breath taking and it happens unfailingly. With the other worshippers, my soul ascends in praise and humility at this privilege. Is it measurable? No, of course not. And yet, my heart…

I have four children, all now in their middle years, and somehow, still young to me and vulnerable. Every parent knows how full we are of these people who came to us and whom we love more than our own lives. When I look at them, I see their baby faces, and their teen posturings; I see their joys and their sorrows; I see age beginning to touch them softly now. I see my version of them. Is it the whole story? Of course not. And yet, my heart….

Some experiences in life belong to the soul, called the heart by ancient Egyptians. And these experiences open our minds to consider new understanding, the excitement of discovery/invention, and renewed action. We cannot help but spill over into compassionate action, into loving confrontation, into humble peace keeping when we have seen the planet from space, tasted the ocean, climbed the mountain, opened our heart to the heart of the earth. And so, my heart is rising still.

 

excerpts from The Lark Ascending by George Meredith

….For singing till his heaven fills,
’T is love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
….Our valley is his golden cup,
And he the wine which overflows
To lift us with him as he goes:
The woods and brooks, the sheep and kine
He is, the hills, the human line,
The meadows green, the fallows brown,
The dreams of labor in the town;
He sings the sap, the quicken’d veins;
The wedding song of sun and rains
He is, the dance of children, thanks
Of sowers, shout of primrose-banks,
And eye of violets while they breathe;
All these the circling song will wreathe,
And you shall hear the herb and tree,

….So touching purest and so heard
In the brain’s reflex of yon bird;
Wherefore their soul in me, or mine,
Through self-forgetfulness divine,
In them, that song aloft maintains,
To fill the sky and thrill the plains
With showerings drawn from human stores,
As he to silence nearer soars,
Extends the world at wings and dome,
More spacious making more our home,
Till lost on his aërial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.

 

A Eucharistic Prayer for Travellers to Emmaus and Beyond

Presider: Be joyful as you go.
All: We rejoice in the presence of Jesus with us.
Presider: Let us give thanks to the Maker of the universe.
All: We give thanks for the journey to new life.
Presider: God of the journey into new places, with new people and new challenges, we remember that you made us in your image. We are yours and you are our beginning and our home. When people hurt themselves and each other, you weep with us. When we forget to care for the world and its creatures, you call us back to your way of healing and peace.
When we see your beauty in creation, we are reminded that all the earth praises the Holy One, with angels and all the saints, singing,

Sanctus (A time to remember Jesus)
Presider: Gracious God, you travelled with the families of the earth as they crossed deserts and rivers, as they found new homes and were exiled from those homes. You have been our God from everlasting and you abide with us in times of peace and plenty, and in times of war and want.

In Jesus, you gave humanity a servant healer, who would teach us to love you and each other. He consoled the downcast and taught a new vision of human society to those who would hear. He made friends with the beautiful and the unpopular. He challenged the oppressors of his time and encouraged those without political power.

On the night before his trial, Jesus, at supper with his friends, took bread, gave you thanks, broke the bread, gave it to them, and said, “Take and eat: this my body given for you; do this for the remembrance of me.”

After supper he took the cup of wine, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them and said, “Drink this, all of you,” as a sign of his life, given as the covenant of love and forgiveness for everyone. He said, “Whenever you drink it, remember me.”

(A time to remember Jesus)

We give thanks for the life of Jesus that lifts our eyes to new life and new possibilities for all people and for the earth, our home.

All:
 At this table, we proclaim your life, Loving Jesus, while you are coming into our hearts.

Presider:
 Bless these gifts O Holy One, and fill us with your Spirit, that we may follow Jesus in sorrow and in joy as we travel beyond the cross. May the resurrection of all hope and dreaming extend from this table to fill the world with love. Through Christ, with Christ, and in Christ, in unity with the Holy Spirit, all praise belongs to you O Maker of all.

All:
 Amen, amen, amen! Amen, amen, amen!

 

 

flight & rest

an old poem about the difficulties of communication, in honour of queen victoria

the pigeons are crapping on queen victoria
in a friendly, intimate way,
no high-altitude, indifferent fly-past
nestled in her bosom
cooing by her chin and on her shoulders
fluffing and gossiping
with her and with each other
as only long time
crap partners can

i come to see you in the Barton jail
there is a mirror between us
so that i touch my own fingers
see my own image, framed in red brick
although i hear you tapping
you only see yourself too
too lonely, too framed
a grainy sepia photograph

why do pigeons love a statue?
why do i love you?
i am not a statue
you are not a pigeon;
you only crap and rarely fly.

break the mirror
and the guards will come
and we will see each other.

long live queen victoria!